Scruncher: As Is Your Deed So Is Your Destiny

Yes, I took the picture.  Isn't it perfect for a new year's post?  I have said that I never tire of shooting sunsets, sunrises, moonlit evenings, and clouds!!  This one is taken from a plane, May 2009. 

You are your deepest desire;
as is your desire so is your will;
as is your will so is your deed;
as is your deed so is your destiny."
---------------Brihadaranyaka Upanishad:

May you choose wisely this year....and may you all be filled with joy and love.....Gott Nytt Ar, Naya Saal Mubarak, Feliz Navidad, A Very Happy New Year to you all


The following entry was written nearly a decade ago, randomly in one of my notebooks.  Since it was not a regular journal, it stayed on those pages for a while.  But every time I came across it, I looked at the content with a new eye. A decade ago, I was trying to sort life just as I am right now.  So, this message comes in handy. I hope that some of the readers will find it useful.  Do let me know......:))

Scruncher: As Is Your Deed So Is Your Destiny

February 2002

The tragic becomes beautiful when accepted with grace, it becomes comic when seen through a child’s eye, it becomes “salvation” when used to transform one’s consciousness –and it becomes magical by acknowledging its powers to make us superhuman.

                 -----------Accidentally Seasoned Hobo

All you need is a cruncher to begin renovating.

And I am not just talking about buildings.

Although that is how I found out about it.

Those of us who park there, were told that parking lot Green B will not have as many spots open for a while.  We might be assigned newer spots.  We were told that it is being renovated.

Renovated?

“That six-floor parking deck made of steel, concrete and mortar doesn’t need renovating,” was my first thought “It’s fine the way it is, huge, concrete and stable.  Besides, it’s been there forever why waste money?  Effort?  And most importantly why waste time?

Time !!  

But as the days passed I saw one section after another of the six-floor deck crumble.  

At first it had seemed unimaginable.  The sound of crumbling and crunching was obscenely loud.  Every time I parked there I could feel my blood stopping to circulate.  Fearing a hemorrhage I’d park as quickly as I could and run away from the screeching walls.  

Then it seemed ridiculous to take down what several men had put together.  What had served us for a very long time.  Then, I noticed on the days that I packed in the unbroken side of it, they had the time to come apart from its ¬amidst, loud clanking, roaring screeching and that deafened our spirits and deadened red blood of all those who live in half a mile range of it.  A few days later, it had started to look ugly.  The steel rods strong they are and useless, first supporting themselves, tough and malleable, and yet absolutely useless.  These rods now supported nothing and so looked bleak despite the inherent strength.

One day on my way to get my car, I stood watching it in awe, as massive bulldozers run at the speed of 5 miles per hour driven by men under 6 feet, elegantly grazed over the concrete.  

Concrete, solid, definitely a substantial foundation – concrete.  Another machine, driven by an average sized man pulled bricks and mortar away from –wires, rods and other building material.  

I asked the overseer—“so what’s this thing called?”

“That?”  still driving the machine, he smiled at me quizzically, “is a scruncher ” and then he shrugged, may be wondering what is a woman dressed in a business suite, holding a brief case in her right hand and insulated mug in her left want with a scruncher….??

As I walk towards my car, sipping my cold tea, on a chilly February evening, I pondered over the number of times I had been accused of being an idealist, the number of times my own negative thinking had neatly arranged the world in blocks of concrete and laid it out as a various levels of priorities, so beautifully than I knew exactly where to park my thoughts on which day, where to extract the car of my ideas from, how far to take them in, how far to pull them out, how well to steer my thoughts so that the adjacent cars weren’t hit –

Huh?” I wondered!  I just wondered if we all needed, a high-powered scruncher!

Yeah, that’s what it is ---we need a scruncher!!

So, don’t tell me this is the way things have been done, or else I’ll show you the scruncher.

By the way, good portion of parking lot green B is now a vast field, and for the time being, it can be turned into a playground, a daycare, free health clinic, a music school, a temple, a synagogue or a, mosque, may be a museum, or may be a parking lot……..

I know, in all likelihood, it might end up being a parking lot—but for now there are numerous possibilities—in its emptiness—

That’s the power of a Scruncher!

2002.

We Make the World

The following story is something I wrote for my University newspaper in the 90s, when after graduating from the MS I moved to DC.  It was published in the university weekly newspaper, since I was still in touch with Editor in Chief who was my Prof. Every time I read this, I long for those days when writing came so easy and simply flowed from my heart. I could do that even until Fiji.  And now, even though I write all the time, words do not flow as they used to.  Citations and references and ideas, that is a different kind of writing.  I do believe that requires much prior reading...like doctors need to have read and understood much before they can prescribe medicines.  But also that is a very different profession from being a poet, or a musician that speaks a level of truth that resonates for generations to come, and is healing every time we listen to it.  So, I present this article here as a window into my first few months of living in Washington DC, having lived in a small US town and a very small town in Southern Africa before. I will not count my stay in Delhi here, since that was home at some point and I lived with other members of the family.  DC was really being an adult.  No one was taking care of me, I was always looking out for a room for rent, on month to month lease so that I could call it quits if I wanted to.  

Other than that, the article is also presented here as a reflection of our own selves.  Especially when we critique others....would we choose to do differently in a similar situation, if not then do we have the right to be critical?

The above picture was taken in Delhi, a few days before Dusshera 2009. Dusshera, also called Vijay Dashmi, is the 10 day of the month (usually between Ashwin and Kartik months according to the Indian calendar), is culmination of a ten day fasting and rituals, that include thinking about triumph of good over evil, people who have gone before us (The Shraad, a week long ritual filled period when the ancestors are honored by feeding the poor and handing out alms and donations). Navratri, or the nine days before Dusshera is when (almost) the whole country refrains from meat, onions and garlic, foods that are considered stimulants, engaged in heavy fasting and prayers.  Some even plant rice and wheat in small bowls representing the grains, in honor of those who grow them...and provide us our daily bread. On Dusshera, big effigies of the demon King Ravana burnt all over the country.  The above picture and the below one show simply the faces, giving an idea of how tall these effigies are.  Made from paper, they are filled with crackers, and people usually like to take the left over bamboo home as symbol of good luck.  As the crackers burst, you hear young children scream and dance with joy,  Dusshera also marks the beginning of Diwali celebration. Delhi, 2009. 

Cities are Cities.  And all cities have at some point tried to create an iconic image of themselves.  Here is Vancouver in all its glory.  A shot from Stanley Park.  September, 2009. 

Nope, Not DC, but Brisbane.  A shot from Brisbane airport, on my way to Thailand,  May 2009.  All cities, in some way, are chaotic in the same way...

We make the world

After two years of surviving Clarion I left it for good, a couple of months ago. Strangely enough I left Clarion exactly two years after I arrived. I have bags and trunks full of memories of Clarion. The assignments done, the tests taken, the notes written and passed while the class was in session, the cards from friends, loads and loads of computer paper, scraps of Clarion call, albums of pictures, lots of reminders from the library for returning the books, reminders from accounts office to pay my dues, a whole bunch of edited videos and even more of footage.

Like all new graduates I moved to a city too, in the hope of finding a decent job. Of course like any other person I realize the list of problems after graduation only increases, not to mention the responsibilities. Yet there are so many things to notice in the city every day that it takes my mind off the things that give me a headache. Life here is very different from Clarion yet much remains the same.

Like getting up early every morning to reach the work in time is just like rushing to make it to the class. So many similarities with the college makes me think if we really make any changes in our lives or just accommodate interestingly disguised adaptions of our old lifestyles. I see people of all ages running to the metros, after the buses, towards the offices. They do not seem relaxed even when rushing towards the theaters and entertainment places. Day after day I either find a seat for myself or give in to standing in a large crowd in whatever means of public transport I take. I prefer to be in the corner i.e. out of the noticable section. From where I muse at the dozing heads, that is, if I am not one of them. It is so much similar to the students dozing in the classroom, of course for different reasons but the consequences remain the same. I start scanning the people around me. An old lady with silver hair and bright red lipstick smiles at me, a man next to her is absorbed in his newspaper, a college student frantically flips the pages of a text book, a middle aged man resting against the iron bar tries to catch some sleep and then a squeal from a child brings me back to myself.       

To make up for my lack of time to work out I rush up the working escalator, wondering if everybody else rushes for the same reason.  As I climb up the steps I notice a man completely immersed in his

novel, some afro-american women with their hair bleached and other Euro american women with their hair dyed dark or permed hair (Why do we have so many racial and ethnic problems if we are constantly trying to look like others? are we ever satisfied with ourselves?), guys with long flowing hair, women with crew cut, guys with nose rings, women with tatoos, and people with hair dyed to match their clothes. Tired ones sitting on steps with lazy smiles and droopy eyes.

Streets are always buzzing with people. People of all races, people with expensive clothes and cheap looks and vice-versa.  Crazy traffic makes you think too. Its not Clarion after all, you have got to wait for the traffic! What effort! It requires a great deal of thinking to follow the traffic lights. 

Life in a city is much busier and faster for sure but do the basics change? The fact is that we are all trying to run after something, rarely do we have moments to ourselves, we are just as careless about our responsibility towards the universe. I say this because I often notice papers and other garbage lying around and within few feet of any given garbage can in the city. We insist on driving to the grocery store even though it is only two blocks away. Yet there are those great moments when a stranger lends a hand or passes an understanding smile and I begin to appreciate the harmony in the world. However I am not yet ready to accept my own hypocrisy which comes from the fact that I am not any different from the others who I notice and judge.I have not had my breakfast so I grab a blueberry muffin and

coffee. As I head towards my work place I come closer to one© man™street© band playing saxophone. It is enchanting, captivating, hypnotizing........!  Mersimerized, I stand still and stare at the richness of the music and the emptiness of the all the people passing by. Barely any one gives it a thought or stops to listen.

It is a monday, I guess. Every work day in the real world seems like a monday!!! I wonder why people wouldn't stop a few seconds or at least spare a few coins.  As I spill hot coffee on me I realize I am late for work.  But out of my good-will I scrounge through my new leather wallet and pick

up a few copper coins. As I throw them in the broken basket in front of the musician I ponder and condemn the people who will not stop or do something for this person. Whose beautiful music makes

us feel like we are a part of a fairy tale and we seem to wade‘through the early morning sleepiness. Slowly I move away from him sipping my coffee, nibbling on the muffin, dropping the crumbs on the street. 

The benign morning sun falls from behind me and casts a shadow that is the ugliest, darkest and the biggest I have ever seen. 

Bon Hiver: Good Winter: Bra Vinter!!

We got our first snow.  Light fluffy, cake-icing like, a very fine layer of two mm, above the ground. Brightened everything.  Now we know that can look forward to a white christmas.  Never thought I would say this, but I have already started to enjoy many of the things...flickering candles on dark days, the crunching sound as we trudge on fresh snow.  I miss the Fiji sunshine, but these dark and cold days will keep my love affair with Fiji's heat, pretty hot. The above picture is from last year.  I did take a picture today and will put it up soon as I have uploaded it.  Here is what I wrote today....

light

fluffy

like vanilla sugar

dredging

on frozen

ground cakes :))

Bon Hiver!!

Let us Smell the Tulips, One more Time.

A walk by College St. 

For today, Halloween, 2011, I am just going to add a link to an old Post. I just returned from State College, PA.  A beautiful little town....which for many reasons always felt like home.  Not just because it is the only time when for a few years I truly unpacked, hung pictures on the walls, made friends with my dentist’s secretary, the librarians at the local library, and the guy who owned an old book store, which since has been sold off, thanks to online business, volunteered regularly, worked at the University Creamery...but because after all that, there was a huge, interlinked connections of love and people that I left behind.

This year, I had a conference in Philly.  The conference is much smaller and cozier than others I attend.  I do want to get to know these bunch of people...but one other motive was to return to Happy Valley, at its prime....in more than one ways.  It was Autumn, the trees were yellow, red, and orange.  Starbucks and Subway were in business.  There was construction on the streets, just as we know it is right before it starts to freeze....there was a protest or two on College and Allen.  CATA was running its regular schedules.  Only the Loop, the strictly on-campus bus, was not Blue anymore.  There were many changes, but not enough for me to feel out of place. I knew the roads.  I knew the lanes, as I knew the many people I might run into there.   I recognized the few changes, not enough to disorient me.  I knew this might be my one chance where I could still ‘go home’ and see a handful of familiar faces, claim my hugs, exchange a few smiles and jokes.

University towns are transient.  In that, they are ruthless.  One replaces the other without much thought.  Much loved Deans and Professors become obsolete merely over half the time it takes to get an undergrad--2 years (not counting super seniors!!).   Yet, for all those who return there is a gush of memories that comes back.

Don’t get me wrong just because I am nostalgic does not mean that my time there was all great and without complaints.  Quite the contrary. What I am saying is that it was a perfect combination of two things.  People and town, the connections I  made, and the location, history and beauty of the town.  State College, the town itself was a Character.  We’d talk about it, as if it were an old friend....someone we knew oh so well, and yet someone who never stopped to surprise us.  I knew that this might be my last chance to see some people at ‘that place’ where the combination of the ‘place and the person’ provide a unique combination for swimming in ‘old memories’.  I know that a few people I knew in Clarion have passed on, many have retired, others have left.  Clarion is where I did my MS and that town, although not visibly different, was definitely much lonelier.  At one point, I stood in the middle of the campus and simply cried.  That the first town where I walked for the first time, into a McDonald’s. An Indian friend has asked me to order ’the cheese burger’ to suit my ‘vegetarian palate’, so that town remains the place where I bit into a piece of beef....ever.  Inte dåligt (not bad--in Swedish).  Clarion was also the place, where for the first time I held a floppy and started to work on computers.  The town, where among other things I both first experienced ‘real snow’, ‘snow storms’ and heard the ice break!!

All of which, I cannot seem to live without now.

So, I think it was right that I visit these people in the middle of a work session, when I just surprise them, as if I lived next door.  That won’t allow much planning to have organized meals and meetings...but that  is how life is....where we plan to have lunch ‘one-day’ for years...and get to it, say less than 24 mths before retirement.  All other meetings, where we planned the ‘meals together’ are probably more significant, occurred in the parking lots, by the curb, outside the restrooms, through our car window--where we B****Hed and Moaned about things that do not work, about children fall off the table and loosing their teeth before their 4th birthday, spouses getting sick from overwork, and us ourselves, trying to juggle life.  Then one day, we sit down, and there is not much to say, because life is never cut and dried. It really does happen, when we are planning for that ‘One day!!'

There is much more to say, but in the absence of time, and the presence of overwhelming emotion, even as I write this, blocks me.  I am going to attach a few--nay more than a few pictures.....and let you get a peak into what I see and feel.

Oh by the way, there is a new Preacher, at a new location, ‘Old Main’--kind of the Secretariat of Penn State.  The Willard Preacher, definitely looked older this time.  For those who do not know, one or two preachers on the University campus always talked ‘God’ literally from 8 to 5, 7 days a week, outside the Willard Building.  Whether or not anyone stopped to discuss.  Willard Building right across from Schwab auditorium to one side and across from Pattee to its other side, is the most frequent building by the students--simply because of the number of classrooms it houses.  I often wondered what would happen if there was some sort of a threat in that building, how long would it take to evacuate it? Which did happen once, post September, 11.  But it was early in the morning, not many were in the building, and we were asked to leave.

Well, this time, I overheard two young, socrates-look-alike students arguing with the new Preacher, who is decidedly much rounder than the previous one, who still continues with his work, outside Willard.  I took a quick picture, smiled and muttered....’somethings only change in dimensions!!’

So, here is the story, followed by pictures and videos.

And here is the story: Smell of Tulips, Touch of Snow

Many faces of Corner Room:  At College and Allen.

The Mall, our version of the Forum!

 Carnegie, where College of Communications is housed.  That big door, that inadvertently-sent me places... 

PS: Notice the fall colors reflected in one of the windows of the majestic building?

Famous Yellow Car. I know cars only by their colors.  And take pictures of yellow cars....all over the world...

What would campuses be without protests, and new voices working on making themselves heard?

Still green, late October and Still green.  See the sun? 

The walk towards Pattee library.

No, these are not the Socrates-look alikes, may be just the hair.  But, he is the new preacher. 

And following are the pictures of colors of Pennsylvania in its all its glory.  I will remain silent, so you can absorb the music they make....

Global Revolution!! All We are Saying, Give People a Chance

It might be sporadic...might be like, as a friend said, 'like an amoeba' but as I believe, these movements are more about realizing the things that we can do together....which we cannot do divided...


The following comment made me want to put this on my blog.


''Lead the way Amerca - for too long the good name of your country has been destroyed by the war mongers, bankers and corperate monsters who have usurped democarcy. God bles you all involved in the occupation.'' (A comment on Occupy Wall Street Website')


Occupy Wall Street: Watch Live  (Wait for the stream to load, it takes only a few seconds).

The Other reason, that made me want to participate 'virtually' in this movement is that I notice there is a serious 'blackout' from the mainstream media about this PEACEFUL movement. While the violent ones are always broadcasted.  Something is not right with the youtube as well, where although you can see as many clips as you want to of the movement, only if you search for it.  But for some reason, it does not register as 'previously watched' videos and does not recommend similar videos for further viewing.  I will have to double check on that.

I hope, this catches momentum.  I hope, the movement STAYS PEACEFUL, as it marches on confidently.

Beauty in Five Minutes: Cost, one fourth of your yearly salary ONLY!!

A sign at MBK mall, Bangkok, Thailand.

Only 15,000 Baht? How could you resist? Botox X-press!! Its fast and efficient.  Just about one fourth  of  an (average) year's salary in the country.  One floor of this bustling mall called the MBK,  is dedicated 'beauty'.  Salons-cum-internet cafes are a perfect way of luring customers of all kinds.  Although this 'beauty hide-out' did not offer 'email check' or ''a round of video-game' services, you can see a computer on the side.  All over the mall people multitask.  Life goes, women feed their children, some children complete their homework next to a blaring speaker, at an electronics shop, and others are probably taking an online course and must have their computer around.  This sign reminded me that some things remain the same, in all cultures, across generations--a desire for youth!!  Here, you pay through your nose, for the efficiency, and immediacy --beauty in 5 minutes!! And like all countries, this instant gratification is available to those with thick pockets.  For the rest of us, we must bear the tear marks of that age old traitor--TIME!! 

At the Airports 2

And the trend of giving you shopping reminders remains truly 'Global'.  While the pictures in the previous post were from Bombay (Mumbai) Airport, the following one was taken at Arlanda, Stockholm, Sweden.

Lest you forget to pick up the last call on buying 'duty free culture!" 

And the following two pictures are meant to make you nostalgic, feel proud of give you a sense of 'aha, I am in the ABBA and 'Nobel' country!!

At the Airports

See those blue spots?  

The blue is actually tarpaulin to cover the shanty living arrangements, to prevent from water from heavy rains to seep in. This is what the SlumDog Millionaire showed. However, what you do not realize is many people living here might be sporting 22 karat gold jewelry.  Nevertheless, these massive, overbearing slums are a reflection of unequal distribution of wealth, more than the lack of it!!  PS: Please do not overlook the fact that these pics were taken from the airport!!  Ah so close to the dream., of flying away!!

Alright then, let us convert everything, every venue, every portal into a money making venture!!

Love, romance and the allure of 'what might happen, always works.  You can call the number for a certain fee to get the coordinates of your favorite air-hostess, send her flowers or woo her by taking her to expensive restaurants!! 

And the above screen very strategically and thoughtfully goes right below the business channel !!

Hmmm...Hmm

Women's International Day

Women's International Day is still far away, but I just had to share this......:))

All jokes apart, it is a fact that women work double time.  All over the world. While there is an erroneous notion that women in the developed world have won that battle, there is no doubt that women in the developing world work without ever realizing that they have 'rights'.  

Cutely Colombian 3

The little girl did not know I took her picture in the bathroom.  I could not help but smile the way she had her face raised up to the dryer....a wise move.  It is not clear in the picture, but her hands were very carefully by each side of her face so that the face was just as exposed to the dryer as her palms. Short as I am, I have always have hard time doing that.  Some things are meant for just some people!!



Bogota Airport, Columbia, May 2011

Mini Monks

As part of our meditation retreat we went to a 'monk school'  The school is like any other regular school except that children live like monks.  Little interaction with distractions, many chores, limited visits with family, and only two pieces of clothing until they are in school.  Only two meals a day, only liquids after 1 pm till breakfast, which is usually at 6:30 to 7 a.m.  Meditation and scripture study is  part of the curriculum.

I will write the name of the school and some other details later.  When I asked if I could take pictures, I was granted permission.  But there were strict instructions not to touch the monks.  Women are not supposed to touch monks, in general.  Furthermore, head is considered sacred in Thai culture and touching head is not considered appropriate.

This class had students from 6th to 9th grade, only because it was a 'Pali' class.  Pali, is the ancient language from India from the time of Buddha.  The original Buddhist texts were written in Pali.  Sabadee, is Thai greeting.  Usually meaning good day, or wishing someone well, it is used both for hello and goodbye.   Notice the young monk, 12 years old, giggle uncontrollably as camera focuses on him.

Many in our group thought that it was not fair for the kids to be attending the monk school, instead of 'regular school'  which prepared the kids for the 'regular world."

I, however, tend to think that this way may not be bad.  Most of these children come from extremely poor backgrounds and without the option of these schools they may not get any education.  This is a very good way of keeping these young children off the streets, as they are trained to develop  their minds and characters.  How could being on the street or getting a half baked education which does not focus on character development be better than this.  In my opinion the rich get many more chances than the poor.  They can mess up, and still start their life anew, even be grateful for their mistakes, in the name of 'learning'.  The poor are not so lucky.  Instead if they can have a chance at education and discipline early in life, they can make something of their lives despite their impoverished background.

But I guess people thought that the lifestyle of rigor and hardship for little boys was too much.  That they were loosing their childhood and that they had no choice.

But for one, not everyone continues to be a monk. Once they graduate from the school, they are allowed to rejoin the world.  Secondly, how many of us have had any choice in getting to where we are?  At least not in the formative years in our lives.  We went to schools that our parents sent us to. We were taught the way our teachers deemed necessary.  And for many of us, we studied what we thought would bring us social approval.

A girl who I had befriended recently said, 'So how is this different from conversion?"  Since I shared with her that I do not approve of conversion, especially when that becomes a tool to get the poor to convert.  I enjoyed our conversations, and we did have some really interesting ones.

"Well, it is not the same" I insisted, "the focus on conversion with the idea that one will not believe in anything else, and not even explore other pathways to learn about the truth is reprehensible.  That path insists on a narrow path, purchases the person's soul, and implies that all other ways are wrong, and cannot lead to the divine.  Religious conversion is not the same as going to monk school, especially if that choice results from lack of financial resources"

However, first and foremost Buddhism is not a religion, conversion to Buddhism does not preclude respecting other religions.  Buddhism does not insist on belief in a God.  The only thing to believe in is Compassion.  Secondly, these children were born to Buddhist parents, so are not being converted to any religion. They are just attending schools, alongside learning the ways of the monk.  Almost like boarding schools. Thirdly, often times future spiritual leaders come from these groups, who were trained to understand their own minds.

Sanskrit word for Philosopher is 'atamvit'.  Atma, self.  Vit, knower.  The one who knows himself.   Westerners for the longest time had disregarded eastern philosophy as philosophy, because rather than focus more on ethics, it focuses on understanding the nature of mind.

There is much more, but I am going to stop for now, and let you enjoy the pictures.

To me, an orange robe is still quite delightful.  Ochre robe, implies a disconnect from the world.  A quest to understand our own mind.  And a determination to relieve the world of suffering by calming the mind, for both self and the others.

As Peace Revolution's logo states, "Outer Peace through Inner Peace'

Some of us, in the classroom, amidst the studious students. 

A novice monk reads a book in Pali.

Everyone looks at Cn, as she makes a comment

The little monk cannot keep the smile off his face, when the camera is pointed at him.  Just like any other boy his age, he is embarrassed to get that kind of attention. 

The monk teacher briefing us on the rules of the monastery. 

A tank of water along with cups and glasses.  This set up is at the back of each classroom for the students.

The young monks cannot contain their amusement. 

Special Skills

Just got this in email with a title: In India if you do not have special skills it is hard to make a living.

I have watched much, seen much.  I usually delete the emails before watching them.  The 'roti' movie was impressive but the one with bricks made my jaw drop. And I muttered 'oh my god!!"  Pay attention to the 'no way' in the background.

All jaw dropping, jokes and shock factor apart, these skills really do need a good combination of knowledge and meditation.  One must be in that trance like mind to arrive at this place.  Only if we could have that in our everyday life, towards everything we do....imagine how our productivity would increase!!  And if we were bring literal, then if the pile of bricks was one fifth its height, may be we would have a posture worthy of the 'ramp'.

And for all the cynics, I am not saying we take up roti-rolling or brick-balancing as a profession, but to bring in that level of meditation into everything we do.

Roti Rolling

Brick Balance

Khushi Mili Itni!!

Just for the sake of itself...a shot outside IKEA, a man rushes with his buys, the shaft of sun from above makes it all dreamy and 'heaven like'!!

Ah, the princess cake.....

Two of the students at the party

The following post was begun last September.  But as time is rare and there are a gazillion things to do, I could not put this together in a formal way.  I jotted down some notes almost a year ago and just got back to it a few weeks ago.  So here it is, celebration of people, with a mountain of gratitude.  

September 6

Three days ago, my second year masters students came to my office for a quick chat.  We have about 6 second year masters student this year.  Two of them moved to another  University for they were more interested in management.  There are about 15 first years.  I have not worked with them yet.  So the breakdown of nationality represented second year MA students 

Armenia, Belarus, Brazil, China, Iraq/Sweden, Morroco, Spain. 

The second year masters students were my first class in this country.  You always have a special affection for the first class you teach, like the first-borns have a special place in the heart of parents.  Since I have lived and taught in so many places, there is  special bond with all my first classes.

Two of the students informed me that one of their classmates will be leaving for a few weeks.  And they wanted to have a small cozy party for him.  They wanted to invite me.  For the last two years, I have had this feeling that I should not get close to students.  Everyone always tells me that it is unprofessional and can cloud our judgment when grading etc. I do agree with clouding of the judgment, but I also think since I call no place home, these young people become my first kind-of-a-family.  But more importantly, it is what I impart to them beyond books that counts the most for me.  I talk about theories, but can never think it is complete until I relate it to real life.  Like Joseph Campbell said, ‘if you really want to teach, you will have to teach how to live in this world, how to function in this world.’  I begin and end every semester with a story that the students can take with them into the real world.  Many of them have come years later to tell me that they remember the stories I told them, and have kept the quotes and notes I would share with them on the last day of the semester.  

For my very first University class ( I taught school for sometime before I started teaching at the University). I remember I made book marks from handmade, but bought paper.  Each book mark had a quote written on it.  So in all, I made nearly 150 book marks that semester.  For another class, I got copies of a favorite book.  I was told later that this could be misconstrued, that people could think that I was trying to get in their good graces.  First, I never thought about it.  Secondly, most of this happened on the last day by which all the evaluations are in.  Since then, and some other events later, I have been cautious.  It has always been hard for me to separate the personal and the professional.  I see people as people.  When people say to me,  you have good contacts, I have to stop and think.  Because all these people for me are actually ‘good people’ not good contacts.

So, when a week before the classes started and the masters students asked me to join for a quick snack with them at the restaurant across from the university, I was touched and yet reluctant.

But when I got an invitation to a party, I simply said that I will show up, but late.  They were fine with it.  It was a Saturday.  I had things to do in the morning.  My sister called me sometime mid day and it was important that I talk to her at length.  When I got a friendly reminder from my students that they were expecting me, I told them I will be late.

Another reminder nearly at 5 pm and I politely said, “Give me about 2 hrs”

‘Two hrs’ said L, a bit taken aback, the most polite of all my students.

‘Ok, ok, I will be there. But how do I get there.?”

“Oh, we are meeting at J's place, and we will send D to pick you up, at Pressbyran” (Pressbyran, is the 7/11 version of Scandinavia, although it hardly 7/11, meaning it closes latest by 8 pm, throughout the year).

I walked up, dressed casually in my sweat suit, and my unruly hair, desperately in the need of a cut, was everywhere.  

On the way, we talked about life.  We talked about school.  I had been in the country about 8 months, out of which about 6 wks I had spent out of town and out of the country.  This was my first time seeing that part of the town.

As I walked in, one of my students greeted me very warmly.  It seemed that they were waiting for me to have dinner.  So, I felt really bad for making them wait.  But I felt even…..as I walked in…

There was a princess cake on the table, and one of my other students was lighting a candle.  Then I remembered that two of the students had actually sent me birthday greetings via email.  We are not connected on the facebook and I did not remember telling them about my birthday.  This year, I had pulled a stunt on facebook by simply threatening people to wish me a very happy birthday.  I had given all those who missed out 48 hrs to wish me a very happy birthday.  And many of my good friends complied.  It was the most beautiful experience, even though it was a bit attention-seeking.

In Fiji, I had started to throw myself birthday parties.  I did that twice.  It was better than being sad and depressed.  I learnt that from someone I admire very much.  And even though it is a bit embarrassing, I never regretted it, because it gave me a chance to see how many people would just be there….especially since I never told them it was my birthday.  Some would get mad, others would promise to return with a gift, but most of them would make it.

This time, I did not throw a party, I simply made a crazy announcement on facebook--and I am not even a facebook person.  I hardly write any notes there.  So grateful to all those who did pen me a note on my facebook wall. 

These students of mine, had barely known me. I had taught them a class and a half, but we had not had many conversations.  We had hardly exchanged much information.  And there I was standing in the middle of  their apartment, dressed like I was ready to roll in the mud, in shock, that someone would remember and celebrate my birthday nearly four weeks after the actual date.

“We were not in the country for your birthday’ one of them said.

I was still in shock, my right hand covered my mouth and the left hand was on my forehead.  But deep down I was grateful.

I had one other grand story of my birthday celebration, and I will write that else where on the blog. 

All of them had cooked. So the food was unique, delicious and quite artistic I might say.

By the way, Princess cake, which I ate for the first time here, is one of the most popular cakes in Scandinavia.  A sponge cake, layered with strawberry filling or/and whipped cream is covered by a generous layer of marzipan, often colored green, although I have seen blue ones as well.  Marzipan, as all food lovers know, is made from almond paste.  As rich as the cake Is, it seems very light when eating. 

The whole thing was organized by J and L.  I knew for sure.


J was laughing and urging me to move quickly towards the cake so I could blow out the candles and make a wish.  But how do you  make a wish when your heart is full?  Would we need to make any wishes when our heart is full?  Afterall, we make wishes to be filled with what we consider ‘love and happiness’.  I was swimming in it, at the moment.  I closed my eyes, blew out the candles, and was grateful for everything, including these beautiful thoughtful souls.

Ofcourse there was a beautiful handmade card and gifts from around the world.  I kept telling myself this is so unreal. I was so touched and so deeply moved that I had no words for a very long time (and may be that is why the delay in putting this up.)  

I cannot express the feeling--but it is close to being home.  When our heart and mind are parked inside the same body.  Like one could stay put forever.  Like, we are embarrassed to have complained about anything.  

And like always, as I walked out, a song came to mind.  And old movie song.  Its a love song, but there is a section that would fit here.  

Khushi mili itni ke man mein na samaya, 

palak bandh kar loon 

kahin chalak hi na  jaye.

[I was given] so much joy [that]

My eyes [and heart] cannot contain

Let me close my eyes

Lest the happiness [spill] drain

On my way home I closed my eyes for a few seconds, I was truly afraid that I might not be able to contain the immense joy of being loved, of being on the beneficiary side of some thoughtful caring young people.  Such experiences expand our hearts, our beings, and remind us, of how these simple things --caring, loving, sharing, smiles, hugs, concerns, empathy, compassion, are not the by products, not the secondary but the primary foundation, the main glue that holds this world together.  That mere theories and strategies would make the world brittle.  It is truly, this ocean of compassion that encourages and supports us to swim in this world’s unclear waters--it is the hope that some compassionate one will be by our side and that we will enjoy the ride, the swim.....the dive....

May the compassionate live long!!